


down the hills and round the bends

by Anonymous



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Beefy Jaskier | Dandelion, Buff Jaskier | Dandelion, Crack Treated Seriously, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Human Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Identity Reveal, Innkeeper Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier has a big dick, M/M, Nipple Play, Role Reversal, Secret Identity, Size Difference, Size Kink, Tank Jaskier | Dandelion, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, buffskier is the size of the continent guys, taken to the Very Extreme aka jaskier is a Tank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27422083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs, worry and concern in his voice. “Shit, Geralt, have you been sleeping out here all night?”Geralt tries to open his eyes, delighted that he’s finally found Jaskier after searching for so long, but a large, warm palm smooths over his eyes, which flutter shut at the gentle touch.“Oh, you’re freezing,” Jaskier gasps, and the warm hand moves down Geralt’s body. Since when has Jaskier’s hand been so big? “I’m going to hold you, Geralt, alright?”They’ve slept together on the same bed plenty of times. But this time, when Jaskier wraps himself around Geralt, Geralt realises that Jaskier is somehowbiggerthan he remembers, his figure enveloping Geralt’s and radiating warmth like a furnace, and when Geralt twists around, he meets the golden eyes of a witcher instead of cornflower blue.When Jaskier disappears, Geralt goes searching for him, desperate to find his lover - only to find a witcher in his place, a revelation that is very, very pleasing indeed.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 287
Collections: Anonymous





	down the hills and round the bends

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i love everything about you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27406198) by [brothebro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro). 
  * Inspired by [Rest Your Weary Head](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958770) by [brothebro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothebro/pseuds/brothebro). 



> you've heard of buffskier... now get ready for tankskier, the final form of buffskier, definitely taken extremely seriously, definitely not crack, he's so massive he gets stuck in doors and breaks everything he sits on, he's a big boy
> 
> to preserve my dignity i'm on anon, please do enjoy this ridiculous thing
> 
> (nothing too graphic but rated E to be safe and in case i ever decide to continue this)

Geralt hasn’t seen Jaskier in months. 

And that’s fine! Really! He’s just… Jaskier usually comes around every two months or so, staying for a few weeks each time, and Geralt has gotten so used to his presence that the lack of Jaskier is glaringly obvious. Ciri has, on more than one occasion, called him out on his ‘moping’, and Yennefer has yelled at him several times for being lost within his own head.

Yes, he misses Jaskier. But Jaskier is a travelling bard, he’s not going to be at Geralt’s inn all the time. It’s only reasonable. 

And yet, Geralt can’t help worrying. He can’t help missing Jaskier, can’t help thinking of his bright blue eyes and warm smile and gentle touch, his infectious joy and boundless vibrance, can’t help remembering the way he brings such light and warmth to the inn, the way he cups Geralt’s face and kisses him like he’s the centre of the world, but Geralt reminds himself that Jaskier has a life outside of the inn. Jaskier has a life outside of Geralt, so he decides to wait it out. Jaskier will come back to visit, he knows. He always does. 

Then a traveller passes into the inn, commenting on how no one has seen Jaskier the bard in months, and Geralt’s worry spikes, his anxiety ratcheting his heart rate. Fuck, what if something has happened to Jaskier? Geralt doesn’t think he can take that - Jaskier is perhaps the most wonderful man Geralt has ever met, and his smiles are bright and sweet, his voice a lilting song, his kiss like coming home, and Geralt hasn’t ever met anyone like him.

He can’t stomach the thought of something happening to Jaskier.

“Where was he last seen?” Geralt asks the traveller as casually as he can, schooling his face into a nonchalant expression as he counts out the traveller’s change. 

The traveller shrugs. “Not so far from here, actually. I was thinking I would get the pleasure of hearing him sing, since word has travelled of how highly the master bard speaks of your establishment, but it seems that he has disappeared. A true shame, really.”

“Ah,” Geralt says weakly as he hands the traveller his change. “Right.”

“Somewhere to the west of here, I believe,” the traveller adds thoughtfully, pocketing his coin. He nods at Geralt as he turns to leave. “I’m sure he’s fine. Bards like him always turn up after some time.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agrees, even as dread churns in his gut. What’s happened to Jaskier? What’s wrong? 

Jaskier wouldn’t just - disappear like that. Geralt has known him long enough to know that Jaskier hates it when people worry about him, always keeping the ones he cares for in the loop, and for Jaskier to have seemingly dropped off the face of the earth…

Geralt decides to ask Yennefer, hoping to curb his worry, hoping that she’ll tell him he’s worrying too much, that he’s overreacting, but when he’s done, she furrows her brows. 

“I… don’t think he’s in any danger,” she says slowly, eyes going distant. 

“But?” It sounds like Yennefer is about to add a ‘but’, and Geralt forces himself not to panic.

Yennefer sighs. “But I think it would be good to check on him. Who knows what he might’ve gotten up to alone?”

“How do you propose we do that?” Geralt asks, sceptical. As much as he wants to find Jaskier, he’s wary of Yennefer’s methods of finding him.

“Follow the traveller’s directions,” she suggests, already starting to look bored as she examines her nails, but Geralt has known her long enough to spot the hint of tension in her shoulders. “There are only so many towns west of here. I’m sure you can go through them all.”

“M-me?” Geralt sputters, arms flailing. When Yennefer arches a brow at him, he sputters further, “Are you telling _me_ to go after him?”

“Why not?” Yennefer looks up from her nails, regarding him with serious purple eyes. “You care for him. You’re clearly worried for him. Oh, and the little detail that you’re his lover. I’m sure he’d be beyond glad to see you looking for him.”

There’s an undercurrent of _something_ in her tone, something that Geralt can’t decipher, but he forges on, “I have the inn to take care of,” he sighs, gesturing vaguely around, even as his heart aches to find Jaskier. “And Ciri is here. I can’t just throw that all away to look for Jaskier.”

Rolling her eyes, Yennefer lets out an exasperated huff. “Oh, for gods’ sake, Geralt,” she snaps. “I’ll watch over the inn and Ciri for you. It’ll only be for a few days, and it’ll do you better to travel for a bit - you’ve been on edge for weeks now, and it’s making everyone uncomfortable. Go and get your boy.”

Geralt travels west, through towns, therough villages, through cities. No one has seen or heard of Jaskier the master bard recently, and Geralt’s heart sinks with every shaken head, with every ‘No, I’m sorry’. Perhaps Jaskier truly is gone. 

Then, as winter creeps nearer and he nears the mountains, some villagers point him to the forest nearby. 

“The bard went there a few weeks ago,” is what all of them say. “We haven’t seen him come out, perhaps he’s in another place, but he’s in the forest.”

So Geralt sets out towards the forest, ignoring the villagers’ warning that he shouldn’t, that the cold of winter will find him before he finds his bard, pushing away the fear and apprehension in his heart. He hasn’t ventured into the wilderness much - he very much prefers the safety of his inn, and the wilderness is unpredictable and hostile. He has travelled and camped in forests before, but never more than a day or two from a human settlement. 

Now, as Geralt ventures further into the forest, following the vague impression of a path and keeping an eye out for any signs of Jaskier, he wonders if this was a stupid idea. He’s left himself a trail to leave the forest, so he won’t get lost, but he’s been here for days, and there is still no sign of Jaskier. His panic grows and swells with every passing second that he doesn’t find any sign of Jaskier, any hum of music or the twang of a lute, any bright laughter or aimless chatter. 

Geralt should leave. This is a dead end. But this is the last place anyone has seen Jaskier, and Geralt will be damned if he gives up hope, gives up on Jaskier. He can’t bear the thought of Jaskier -

No. Jaskier is fine. Geralt _will_ find him. 

But as Geralt lays down on the forest floor for the fifth consecutive day, the air holding a frigid chill and a cold, biting wind whipping through the trees, the fire by his bedroll fighting valiantly to stay alight, seeds of doubt begin to grow in Geralt’s heart. 

The forest is cold. The earth is hard underneath his back, and Geralt shivers, curling further into himself even as the ground digs into his skin. Sleeping in the forest is _horrible_ , and Geralt wonders how Jaskier has managed to do so and get accustomed to it on his travels as a bard.

Abruptly, longing for Jaskier hits him in full force, the space at his back feeling too cold and empty, a gaping absence where Jaskier should be, and Geralt shivers, feeling so utterly lonely, so utterly cold. 

He wants Jaskier, wants to press himself to Jaskier’s body, warm and comforting. He wants to feel Jaskier’s arm wrapped around him, to be close enough to hear Jaskier’s heartbeat, to feel his gentle breaths against his skin. He wants to press his face into the crook of Jaskier’s shoulder, tangling their limbs together until they’re almost inseparable from one another, until they meld into one. 

But Geralt is alone, and his fire has been reduced to mere embers in the wintry chill, leaving him shivering violently, trying to seek a warmth that isn’t there. He’s so cold, and the cold tugs at him, pulls exhaustion over him like a frigid blanket, and before he can stop himself, his eyes slip shut.

* * *

“Geralt,” a familiar voice murmurs, slightly lower and more gravelly than Geralt remembers, but a voice that he recognises as Jaskier’s. “Shit, Geralt, have you been sleeping out here all night?”

Geralt tries to open his eyes, delighted that Jaskier is here with him, but a large, warm palm smooths over his eyes, which flutter shut at the gentle touch. 

“Mm,” Geralt tries to say, tries to mumble Jaskier’s name, and then Jaskier is making a soft, hurt sound.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Jaskier gasps, and the warm hand moves down Geralt’s body. Since when has Jaskier’s hand been so big? Geralt is fairly sure that Jaskier’s hand is around the same size as his own, certainly not the size of the massive hand that’s roaming down his body, but Geralt figures that he’s too tired to properly comprehend what’s happening. “You’re so cold. Can I hold you, Geralt?”

Unable to speak through frozen lips, Geralt makes his stiff neck nod, and Jaskier huffs a small laugh. “Very well then. I’m just… I’m just gonna…”

They’ve slept together on the same bed plenty of times. But this time, when Jaskier’s warm figure settles behind Geralt, Geralt realises that Jaskier is somehow _bigger_ than he remembers, his figure enveloping Geralt’s, his body radiating warmth like a furnace, but before Geralt can think too much of it, sleep seizes him, and he drifts away. 

When he wakes up, there’s a warm presence at his back, and Geralt relaxes into Jaskier’s touch, until he freezes in realisation. 

Jaskier’s body isn’t that big. The body behind him is far too big to be Jaskier’s body, and Geralt panics. He remembers hearing Jaskier’s voice before falling asleep, remembers Jaskier saying his name with worry, remembers Jaskier’s warm touch, but the body behind him - the body behind him is unfamiliar. 

Geralt makes to wriggle out of not-Jaskier’s grip, tries to turn around, but the thick, strong arm trapping his body pulls him closer, clutches him tighter, and try as he might, Geralt can’t break free.

“Mm, you’re awake,” a low, husky voice whispers, and it’s Jaskier’s voice, Jaskier’s voice coming from the unfamiliar figure behind him, and Geralt tries to twist around. Jaskier’s arm loosens around him, and Geralt turns around to be met with a very large, very naked, very hairy chest. 

Geralt’s mouth goes dry, and he’s suddenly wide awake. “Um,” he squeaks, tearing his gaze from that wonderful torso to look up at Jaskier’s eyes. His mouth falls open when, instead of the usual human blue, he meets slit-pupiled gold, but before he can scramble away, he takes in the rest of the face, scarred and fuller and softer, covered by a lush, full beard - some features are unfamiliar, but Geralt _knows_ that face.

“ _Jaskier?_ ” Geralt demands, blinking in confusion. The face is so familiar, but those eyes aren’t, nor are the scars or the shape of the face, and certainly not that extremely impressive chest. 

Those lips, plush and kissable, curve into a shy smile. “Yeah,” Jaskier rumbles, and Geralt bites his lip at the sound. “That’s my name.”

“You’re - you’re -” Geralt gapes, unable to stop his eyes from wandering down, away from Jaskier’s face to roam over that chest. Holy fuck, Jaskier is _huge_ , far huger than the lithe, lean bard Geralt remember. His shoulders dwarf Geralt’s own, the sheer thickness of his chest and arms making Geralt’s mouth water, the dark hair covering his body making Geralt want to bury his face into every part of him.

“A witcher?” There’s insecurity in Jaskier’s voice, and Geralt reluctantly tears his gaze from that beautiful chest to meet golden eyes, fangs tugging at Jaskier’s bottom lip. “I… I’m sorry, I know I’m -”

“Don’t be,” Geralt blurts, and Jaskier blinks slowly at him. “This is. This is a very pleasant surprise.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt blushes as he stares at that full face, stares at that lush beard that Geralt wants to be rubbing all over his own skin, rubbing it pink and raw. Trying to divert his thoughts, he glances away, but Jaskier is so broad that Geralt’s wandering eyes land, once again, on the impossibly wide expanse of his chest, and Geralt is hopelessly drawn in, his hands rising involuntarily to paw at the massive chest before him, deliciously bare. “Oh, wow, Geralt.”

Jaskier’s words throw Geralt back to the present, and he flushes darker, making to withdraw his hand, but before he can do so, Jaskier’s hand shoots up and wraps around his wrist. Jaskier’s hand is large and warm as it cradles Geralt’s wrist, and gods, the newfound revelation of Jaskier’s sheer size is really, really doing everything for Geralt. 

Slowly, Jaskier lifts Geralt’s hand and presses it to his mouth, the bristles of his beard tickling the back of Geralt’s hand, and Geralt’s breath hitches at the tender gesture, the intimacy of the moment. He finds himself moving closer and closer to Jaskier, pushing himself forward into that plush chest. 

Chuckling, Jaskier wraps an arm around him, and Geralt revels in the feeling of being trapped between Jaskier’s thick arm and his strong chest as he turns his head to press a kiss to Jaskier’s collarbone. 

Jaskier shivers slightly at the touch, and Geralt does it again, enjoying the shiver that once again runs through Jaskier. 

“Why did you never tell me?” Geralt mumbles, face pressed against warm skin, and Jaskier exhales. 

“I just wanted to be human. I just wanted to be a bard,” Jaskier whispers, pressing his face against Geralt’s curly hair. “I just…”

“I get it.” Geralt tucks his face into Jaskier’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“My glamour ran out a few weeks ago,” Jaskier says, voice low. “I wanted to see you, but I was - I couldn’t…”

Jaskier’s breaths are shaky, and Geralt presses in closer, slings an arm over Jaskier’s broad torso. Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath, and continues, “I didn’t want you to - to see me like this.”

“Why not?” Geralt wonders, unable to imagine what could possibly make Jaskier think that. He can’t keep his hands off Jaskier like this, can’t bring himself to move away from Jaskier. 

“Who would even want a witcher like me?” Jaskier’s voice breaks a little at the end, and Geralt lifts his head to stare at golden eyes and a scarred face. 

“I would,” Geralt says fiercely, reaching up to cup Jaskier’s cheek, the beard soft underneath his palm. He strokes his thumb over the scar on Jaskier’s face and murmurs, “Jaskier… this doesn’t change anything.”

“But - but I’m not…” Jaskier tries to pull away, but Geralt tightens his arm around Jaskier’s chest, unwilling to let him go, unwilling to let Jaskier hide from him. 

“You’re still Jaskier.” Geralt pulls him close, holds him tight. 

“You don’t mind that… I lied to you?” Jaskier sounds vulnerable, a stark contrast to the strength of his body. “That I’m a witcher?”

Perhaps there was a part of Geralt that had been slightly hurt when he’d realised that Jaskier had hidden the truth from him, but that hurt had quickly been overcome by the surge of tenderness when Jaskier had said, voice desperate, _I just wanted to be human. I just wanted to be a bard._ Now, looking at this different Jaskier before him, Geralt feels only the warm caress of love and fondness. 

Yes, Jaskier looks different now, but Geralt really, really doesn’t mind. Yes, the life of a witcher is dangerous, and Geralt worries for Jaskier, worries for his safety, for the hateful way humans undoubtedly treat him, Jaskier has survived this long, and Geralt has to trust him to always come back. 

Geralt hums. “I don’t mind at all,” he breathes out, and tension eases from Jaskier’s shoulders. 

“I - I’m sorry I haven’t been around,” Jaskier rasps. 

“You’re here now.” Geralt nuzzles his face against the crook of Jaskier’s shoulder, sinking into the warmth of his embrace. 

“You’re lucky I was here.” Jaskier’s tone turns reprimanding, and Geralt smiles at the familiar, admonishing tone, one that he’s heard many times before, chasing away the lingering vulnerability, the lingering insecurity. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I could find you,” Geralt confesses, low and honest, and Jaskier sighs, tangling a large hand in Geralt’s curls. “You haven’t been around for months. I was worried.”

“Oh?” Geralt can hear the smirk in Jaskier’s voice, and he raises his head to meet playful golden eyes. “You were worried, huh?”

Heat rushes to Geralt’s cheeks. “Hmm.”

“That’s sweet,” Jaskier purrs, tugging Geralt’s hair and yanking him up into a fierce kiss, and Geralt moans against Jaskier’s lips, relishing in the way Jaskier’s lush beard scratches against his skin. He clutches at him tighter - it’s been so _long_ without Jaskier, and Geralt has been so _lonely_ , but Jaskier is here now, and Geralt feels warm, feels safe in the circle of those strong arms as Jaskier moves one hand to cup Geralt’s face. The size of that hand is unfamiliar but welcome, and Geralt sighs into Jaskier’s mouth, warm and content. 

Jaskier hums, a low vibration in his chest, as Geralt deepens the kiss, sliding his hands over Jaskier’s newly huge body, eager to explore and touch. He skates his hands over the wonderful breadth of Jaskier’s shoulders, down that glorious chest, his fingers tangling in Jaskier’s thick body hair, thicker than he remembers. He wraps his hands around huge biceps, bulging with enough muscle that Geralt’s hands can barely span them, much less wrap around them. There’s so much strength underneath Geralt’s hands, Jaskier’s muscles shifting as he moves to kiss Geralt slower, deeper, and Geralt refamiliarises himself with the lines of Jaskier’s body, learning the way it dips and curves, the way Jaskier is all hard, thick muscle under a soft layer of healthy fat, a body that holds so much sheer strength, strength that isn’t just for show. 

It’s truly a glorious surprise, Geralt thinks, grabbing greedily at Jaskier’s pecs, eliciting a low rumble from Jaskier. Glorious, and utterly wonderful, far better than Geralt could ever have expected, and Geralt rubs at Jaskier’s pecs, massaging them and tweaking his nipples. Those pecs make a really nice handful - Geralt has always been a sucker for a nice pair of tits, and Jaskier’s pecs are possibly the best tits he’s ever held in his hands, thick with muscle and so perfectly grabbable. 

“Tease,” Jaskier mumbles, and Geralt pulls back to grin wickedly before starting to press kisses to Jaskier’s bearded jaw, the bristly hairs tickling his lips, wiggling teasingly when Jaskier grabs his ass with his massive paws. He tilts his head downwards, nipping at Jaskier’s neck, and Jaskier arches into him, fingers digging his ass in a move that makes Geralt’s dick twitch.

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sighs, and Geralt takes a few seconds to just stare at Jaskier’s chest and arms, at the mouth-watering thickness of his body. There’s so much strength in his body, and though Geralt knows that Jaskier has always been strong, Jaskier’s glamoured appearance is smaller than Geralt’s, and to see Jaskier bigger than him, visibly stronger - Geralt suddenly feels too warm, too flushed, and he moves down to suck at one of Jaskier’s nipples. 

Jaskier lets out a soft gasp, releasing his hold on Geralt’s ass to bury both hands into Geralt’s hair in an unyielding grip, and something thick and hard presses against Geralt. Geralt glances down, biting his lip at the sight of a massive bulge straining against Jaskier’s tight trousers, a bulge far larger than Geralt remembers it being, and Geralt sucks in a breath, licking at his lips as a thrill runs through him at the sheer _size_ of that bulge. Jaskier has always been a large man, even underneath his glamour, and desire runs through Geralt’s veins at the thought that, unglamoured, Jaskier is undoubtedly proportionate. 

He looks up through his lashes to see Jaskier staring at him, hunger bright in his golden eyes, a hunger that drives Geralt to grin wickedly as he moves further down to mouth at the bulge in Jaskier’s trousers. 

“ _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier growls, fisting his hands tighter in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt complies with his unspoken command, popping open the button on those sinfully tight trousers using his teeth, not breaking eye contact with Jaskier as he pulls down the zipper. It’s been so long since he and Jaskier have last fucked that Geralt fumbled slightly, and he wants that cock so _badly_ that he’s shaking with anticipation, but he succeeds, and finally, finally, Jaskier’s erection springs free.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm stopping this here and marking this as completed since i want to gauge how you reader react to this and how much more you want, should you want anything:) this is currently marked as completed but i may add more, so do subscribe if you’re interested!
> 
> to clarify: geralt is human here, and he's an innkeeper (with a great love for horses), ciri is his daughter and yen helps him run the inn, and that's pretty much all you need to know. the innkeeper bit is based off [this reverse au](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958770/chapters/63101650), and if you like this crack treated seriously concept of massive jaskier, check out [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27406198) (both by the same writer, a lovely wonderful person who i love, even if they are an Enabler)
> 
> (... does anyone know where the title is from)


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